


With Any Luck

by dracoqueen22



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Campaign 2 (Critical Role), Fjolly Week 2019, Gen, M/M, Pining, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-29 01:47:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17798792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22
Summary: Fjord’s not drinking a lot of ale because he’s secretly pining for his friend and roommate, without the slightest idea of what to do about it.For Fjollyweek 2019, day five





	With Any Luck

Fjord doesn’t have a good track record with intimate partners.   
  
He’s had a couple of one night stands over the course of his adult life, and he’s had one relationship of relative note. That particular relationship had dissolved messily, violently, and the last he saw of Sabian had been when his former boyfriend had blown up the ship they were traveling on.   
  
Fjord’s made it a point of learning to blend in, learning how to be other people, but he still struggles with connecting to people in a meaningful way. He keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, as the saying goes.   
  
He doesn’t know what to do with a genuine attraction.   
  
He doesn’t know what to do about Mollymauk Tealeaf.   
  
He’s sitting at the table with the rest of the Mighty Nein, most of them barely awake over their cups, and Caleb not at all awake. He’s zonked out on the table, and Nott can’t get him up to their room on her own. Fjord’s about to tell Jester to help them both when Jester volunteers, fighting off a yawn of her own.   
  
She hauls Caleb over her shoulder with hardly any effort, and he wakes up with a snuffle and a muttered curseword in Zemnian.   
  
“I can get myself to bed,” he says.   
  
“Well, you weren’t managing it before so I’m doing it for you now, Caleb,” Jester replies in her cheerfully no-nonsense tone. She lugs him toward the door to the back rooms, and he doesn’t have the energy to fight her off.   
  
Nott scurries after them, and if her hand dips into the pocket of another patron along the way, Fjord pretends not to notice. Though he doesn’t have to pretend too hard.   
  
He vaguely clocks Beau sizing up a group of men in the corner as if trying to decide whether they’d be worth a fight or not. Yasha sits nearby, paging through her notebook, quiet and behaved. Sometimes, she’s his favorite.   
  
If it weren’t for Molly.   
  
Molly who’s up at the bar, flagrantly flirting with a pretty halfling woman and a tall half-elven man. He’s doing some card tricks to the halfling’s girlish delight, and playing keepaway with his tail with the half-elf.   
  
They’re utterly charmed, and Fjord’s not going to lay bets on which bed Molly’s going to end up in tonight. Could be either. Could be both.   
  
The only thing he’s sure of is that Molly isn’t going to be sleeping in their room tonight. Or if he does, it’ll be because he’s dragged himself back just before sunrise, smelling of sex and satisfaction. He probably won’t even be fully dressed because nudity is not a thing that bothers Molly.   
  
It’s happened before. It’ll happen again. It’s probably going to happen tonight.   
  
Fjord’s not jealous. He has no reason to be jealous. He’s drinking a lot of ale because it’s been a hard day, a hard journey, and he’s exhausted.   
  
Fjord’s not drinking a lot of ale because he’s secretly pining for his friend and roommate without the slightest idea of what to do about it.   
  
He watches Molly, and he drinks. Jester doesn’t come back down, probably because she went to bed, and eventually, Beau decides not to cause a bar fight, and joins her.   
  
Fjord stays because Molly’s still flirting, though he’s moved on from the halfling and the half-elf, to an older human woman in the corner, her freckles standing out in bright relief against tanned skin. She looks like she can bench-press Molly, and maybe that’s the appeal. He’s leaning in close to her, and they’re chatting, Molly’s tail set off in a slow sway like it does when he’s interested in something.   
  
They laugh together, and even with the background noise of the tavern, Fjord can pick out Molly’s laugh above all else. His heart squeezes into a tiny knot of want.   
  
He takes another drink.   
  
“He likes you, you know.”   
  
Fjord blinks. He’s forgotten Yasha’s here, and that she’s downstairs, and that she’s sitting next to him, probably watching him mooning over Molly like an idiot.   
  
“I… what?” Fjord asks.   
  
Yasha’s stern expressions softens with a smile. “Molly likes you,” she says. “You should talk to him.”   
  
Fjord works his jaw. He squints at her. “If he likes me, why hasn’t he said so?”   
  
“Probably for the same reason you haven’t.”   
  
Fjord glances past her, toward Molly and the woman, and back to Yasha. “He’s got a weird way of showing it.”   
  
Yasha shrugs. “So do you.” She closes her little notebook carefully and stows it in her bag. “Don’t drink too much, okay? It’s not fun sleeping on a table.” She stands and slides her bag over her shoulder. “I’m going to sleep now.”   
  
“Oh, um. Goodnight.”   
  
Yasha nods and vanishes.   
  
Is it weird that he’s used to her brusque ways by now?   
  
A familiar chime of jewelry drags Fjord’s attention away from Yasha’s exit, and he blinks as Molly slumps into the chair Beau had abandoned, snagging her empty tankard, only to glare into it.   
  
“She didn’t leave me a drop,” he says.   
  
“Beau never leaves alcohol if she can help it,” Fjord says, and pushes his own half-empty tankard Molly’s direction. “Here. Finish mine.”   
  
Molly raises his eyebrows. “Well, aren’t you the sweetest.” He grins and sweeps it up, head tilting back to finish it off in several long pulls. He swipes the back of his hand over his mouth, and the tankard hits the table with a dull thud. “Thanks.”   
  
Fjord raps his fingers on the tabletop. “Strike out?” he asks, tilting his head in the direction of the human woman, or where she had been anyway. She’s not there now, and a quick glance through the interior says she’s gone.   
  
“I am many things, Fjord, but party to marital infidelity with full knowledge of it is not one of them,” Molly says with a snort. He leans back in his chair, arm slung over the back of it, shirt gaping enough to give tantalizing glimpses of scarred flesh.   
  
Fjord wants to taste every one of them.   
  
“Oh,” he says. “That sucks.”   
  
Molly runs a finger around the rim of the tankard. “That I have moral standards?”   
  
“No, that the lady’s looking to cheat on her husband and ruined for the opportunity of a fun night,” Fjord says, and damn, why is it so much easier to smooth talk something when he’s playing another person? Why can’t he be smooth when he’s himself? “Not, uh, not a lot of people would say no if it came to that.”   
  
“I am an honest and forthright person of inestimable moral righteousness,” Molly drawls, with that bullshit tone Fjord’s becoming increasingly familiar with. “Besides, my night is still fun. You’re here, right?” He winks.   
  
Fjord feels the flush start in his neck and go all the way to his hairline. Yasha’s words ring at the back of his mind.   
  
“Yeah, I am,” he says.   
  
He looks at Molly, his heart throb-throbbing as he takes in the tattooed skin, the old scars, the fall of hair across his forehead and jewelry jingling from his horns.   
  
If Yasha’s right, he should say something.   
  
But the words get stuck in his throat. He’s not that brave. Not today. Better to start small.   
  
“Another drink?” Fjord asks, gesturing to the empty tankard. He’s already rising to get one for himself.   
  
“So long as you’re paying.” Molly’s grin makes Fjord’s heart skip a beat.   
  
He grins back and realizes he’s staring like a lovestruck fool. He tears himself away, beelines for the bar to order their drinks, his heart thudding and his face in a full flush. He glances over his shoulder, sees Molly watching him, chin on the heel of his palm, lips curved.   
  
Gods.   
  
Fjord’s going to tell him someday. He swears it. He’s dying to know the taste of Molly’s lips, and the feel of his skin.   
  
Someday.   
  
The bartender hands him two fresh tankards, and Fjord carries them back to the table, setting one in front of Molly while holding the other for himself.   
  
“A toast,” Molly suggests with an eyebrow waggle. “To abandoning one night stands in favor of my favorite roommate.”   
  
Fjord snorts. “Your favorite, huh? Do I get a trophy for that?”   
  
“The real trophies are the friends we make along the way.” Molly nods sagely and taps his tankard against Fjord’s. “Cheers!” He tips his head back and drinks.   
  
Fjord does, too, hiding behind his tankard as the cheap ale spills over his tongue.   
  
Maybe someday. Just not today. 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is very welcome, appreciated, and encouraged. :)


End file.
